We Moved. It is Done. DONE.

We moved.

It all started when Scott went out for a walk came home and announced in his best I-am-serene-because -life-can't-take-anymore-from-me voice that the sewage line was broken. Ignoring the fact that the EPA might want to kill us, this would explain why the toilet was flushing poorly and the sink doesn't work.

I suggested moving. Scott said no on the bases there was no Internet over at the newer mobile home. What followed next was hours of passive aggressive bullshit. I knew the only way I was going to get to move sometime in my motherfucking lifetime was by driving my husband insane.

So the next morning, before he was fully conscious I rolled over and said. “Can we move?”

“Pack your shit.” Was his response.

So I god damned well did.

There was Scott sitting in front of his computer, happily listening to his pod cast. Not a care in the world and then I started parading by with books, and half my desk and my lamps. At that point I think he realized that there was no going back.

Our solution to the fact the dish, and subsequently the Internet are all located down a hill from us was to buy a shit ton of Cat5 and run along the ground from one structure to another. It was a pretty ghetto solution, but I live in WV so it seemed like a perfectly normal thing to do.

Scott made the Internet work, while I moved all of our possessions over. I was hoping that at some point he would make the Internet happen and then help me move, but sometime around 3 when he announced his need to make an emergency run to Lowes I lost all hope.

Now the thing I have to explain here is that I moved everything. My desk. Our nightstands. All the clothing. My computers. The TV. The food. EVERYTHING. This was all made worse by the fact that it was raining off and on all day. Which then turned into snow at some point. I was moving my electronic items whenever I saw a clear spot coming. I had no boxes and one plastic bin that I had taken out my closet and emptied. Also, everything I was carrying I had to be able to move with one hand, as there were two doors I had to open to get to victory.

Now let me state that my job involves moving heavy shit. Lots of it. I know how to lift. I know how to pace myself. All I can say is that I entered a zone that day. It was like all of my pent of frustration about living in a shit-hole had just built and built until I reached a peak of absolute drive and PMS driven anger that had burst over me like a tidal wave. I still have no idea how I did all that in one day. NO IDEA.

I was wiped. I was more tired then I had ever been in my LIFE. I didn't tell Scott, but I kept experiencing rolling pains that would run up and down my sides. I ate very little of dinner. This was when we discovered we were out of fuel oil over here and it was approaching witches teat inside. Scott made a fire. Which involved even more good ol' WV figuring. I did the only thing I could do at that point. I got drunk. Really drunk. Because that would fix it. Which it did. Until the next morning.

Which was also my Birthday. This is how I spent my special day crawling around like death was coming for me and being cold.